Water Under the Bridge
by xGuiltyxPleasure
Summary: If I was ever offered one more television interview, I already know the one question I would be asked. What does it feel like to go from being the biggest star in the world to absolutely no one? Miley centric oneshot.


If I was ever offered one more television interview, I already know the one question I would be asked.

What does it feel like to go from being the biggest star in the world to absolutely no one?

It is almost unbearable.

I wasn't supposed to be like the other girls. I came from humble beginnings and a good wholesome family that upheld its moral values. A modest, strong, and intelligent girl like me was supposed to be able to realize what a fleeting thing fame was, and rise above the girls who would do absolutely anything to obtain it, at the risk of their own integrity. And I was. At first, anyways.

But fame can be described as nothing else, if not a disease. It's a sickness that works its way into your brain so discreetly, that by the time you realize how it's affected you, it's too late to cure yourself anyways. Because by then, you're too hungry to focus on anything else. Every second of attention from the media, photographers, or people on the streets is another dose of a drug, on which I became highly dependent.

I tried my best to be inspirational, and a positive influence to young girls. But no matter how many adoring fans I had, it seemed there were even more people rooting for me to fail, and watching my every move, waiting for me to mess up. Being under pressure like that, it's hard not to crack.

My attempts to remain down to earth by leading an everyday life by day and the superstar dream by night failed. They were bound to from the start. It wasn't only the stress that came from living a borderline schizophrenic lifestyle that caused me to give up the gimmick. I had already begun to go out more and more often dressed up as my pop star self, to reap the benefits of my celebrity status as much as possible. It got to the point where I could no longer stand being denied my superstar treatment when I wasn't in costume. After a meeting with my publicist and label, and a six page spread in Rolling Stone Magazine, the entire world knew that Hannah Montana and Miley Stuart were one and the same. Never again would I be shorted of attention or special treatment.

Maybe I lost myself even more to the Hollywood world, because in a way, I did so in the literal sense as well. After my big "secret" was revealed, I didn't become Miley all the time, but instead, Hannah. I was losing my true identity to a make believe character, and fully aware of it, yet I did nothing to stop it.

Sure, people learned my real name. They knew who I was, and where I had come from, and for a while they thrived on learning more about this real person, whom for so long had remained hidden. But once there was no more to tell about my double life, the seperation between Hannah and Miley was nonexistent. I thought it would put me at peace to be one and the same with my pop star name, but everywhere I went as Miley, there was someone running up behind me screaming the name Hannah Montana.

And so I became her, always.

I felt like I was constantly playing a role now, always assuming another name than the one I had been given by my parents. Meanwhile, I was growing older, trying to bridge the gap between my young fans and my older ones. I was desperate to not wash up and dry out like so many teen icons of the past. I had to change my image to keep with the times, in an effort to remain in the loop.

So I did. Maybe more drastically than I should have. But like I've said, once fame is ingrained in you, you'll do whatever's necessary to hold on to it. I've been called many names, but their meanings never changed. Slut. Skank. Whore.

I put my father out of work as well. I know it sounds horrible, but his songs just weren't cutting it anymore. I had to be more edgy, or so my record label told me, ditch the hillbilly with the guitar and start belting out the songs they gave me.

It bothers me more now than it did then. If I had known it would all end the same for me no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn't have groveled in the end like that. I would have retained more dignity. I sometimes wonder if my desperation was what did me in. I'd like to go back and try it all my own way again. I want to still be singing the songs I love again. My career started because of a passion for music, I just got blindsighted and forgot that for a while.

Sometimes, I think about calling my dad up and asking if he'd write me a song, for fun and nothing else. He could give it to me next Christmas, and then play his guitar while I sing along, just to entertain the family, the way it was when I was a child.

But that's all a sensitive subject now, so I just leave well enough alone.

Now and again, someone will walk up to me and ask me for an autograph, and I almost feel silly when I'm writing it. It seems obscene now that I sacrificed everything that meant something to me, just so that my signature would be worth something.

But all that has passed. I can't turn back time, and change my decisions. I can only move forward, further into a world where I sing every morning in the shower with as much fervor and gusto as I used to up on that Hannah Montana stage. And then, I move on with my day, like every other person.

I don't think about those few glorious moments in which I excersize my windpipes again, making music that's all my own. I move on. All that's water under the bridge now, and to dwell on it would only serve to destroy me.

My father always said music was meant to be shared with the world, sung loudly for everyone to hear, and passed along.

I sing only for myself now, and no one else.

* * *

_A/N: I've wanted to write an angsty Miley oneshot for a while now. I just wanted to try something different. _

_Please review._

_xoxo._


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